Shadowscapes
by PandaNoodles
Summary: After Alice Valerian (OC) short-circuited the Holy Grail through her unconventional summoning, an unexpected cast of strange but powerful Heroic Spirits emerged from the Grail's disturbed infrastructure: each with a wish worth dying and killing for. (No change to Saber and Archer class. Kicked out Ryuunosuke, sorry.)
1. Ch 1: The Summoning

_For the elements, silver and iron.  
For the foundation, stone and the Archduke of Contracts.  
For the ancestor, my great master.  
Close the gates of the cardinal directions.  
Come forth from the Crown,  
and follow the forked road leading to the Kingdom.  
Fill, Fill, Fill, Fill, Fill.  
Repeat five times.  
But when each is filled, destroy it._

 _Set._

 _Heed my words.  
My will creates your body, and your sword creates my destiny.  
If you heed the Grail's call  
and_ _obey my will and reason, then answer me!  
I hereby swear that I shall be all the good in the world,  
that I shall defeat all evil in the world.  
You seven heavens, clad in three great words of power,  
come forth from the circle of binding,  
Guardian of the Scales_

* * *

Perhaps it was an understatement for Emiya Kiritsugu to say that King Arthur, the legendary King of Britain, was not the man he thought he was.

When he locked eyes with the golden-haired maiden who barely reached the height of his eyebrows, he thought that he must have made a mistake. Was it the circle of summoning, the incantation, or the relic? Or was it the Holy Grail itself? But those eyes, as soon as they opened, shone with authority and pride.

"I ask you—are you my Master?" calmly, she spoke. She wore a dignified blue dress; plates of armour covered the front of her torso, her forearms and her thighs. Kiritsugu found that it was difficult to ignore her almost girlish features. _King Arthur?_ No. It couldn't be, but as the bond between Master and Servant sealed, a slow intertwining of magic and mana—Kiritsugu knew it to be true. This woman— _she_ —was the legendary King Arthur himself—but how?

The Holy Grail. The ultimate wish granting device. And with its power— _a world where nobody needs to cry_ —no longer seemed impossible. And who was to question something as powerful as the Grail? Who could possibly undertand how it was made and its workings? Yet there was an uneasy feeling that Emiya Kiritsugu could not shake. He believed that the ancient family of Einzbern would have done everything they could to ensure the victory of the Fourth Holy Grail War, and so he did not question their selection of Heroic Spirit who now stood before him. The tales and lore of King Arthur promised great power and a unique set of abilities that would surely be manifested by the Grail's summoning, and would prove useful during the Grail War.

As he fumbled and fidgeted for a cigarette in his pocket, he wondered what the King of Knights thought of him: a modern man, wearing a black suit as well as a perpetually grim expression. Kiritsugu desired a world of peace, but he was no knight in shiny armour.

Irisviel was beside him; he didn't notice her approach. She placed a hand on top of his shoulder. She smelled like lavender, a scent that, on rare nights, calmed him and helped him drift towards a dreamless sleep.

He was going to take the cigarette out and light it, but he thought better of it. Instead, she took Irisviel's hand and squeezed it. Together, they faced Saber, _Arturia,_ the legendary King Arthur, the King of Knights.

* * *

Kiritsugu was not the only Master who was surprised to see the Servant they summoned this night.

In a depths of Fuyuki Forest, young haughty Waver Velvet managed a smile despite his uncontrollable panting. The summoning ritual proved to be a daunting task indeed; he could barely keep up with the draining of his mana, and as King of Conquest became attached to his command seal, Waver felt an electrifying jolt that shook him breathless. It was a difficult process, but the young mage was exhilarated. He would mark his place in history. He would earn the respect of the Magical Association. He saw it in his mind's eye: Professor Kayneth Archibald staring at him, incredulous, disbelieving, having no choice but to recognize his talents as a mage—

But it would seem like, Waver realized with dismay, that Kayneth Archibald had acquired the wrong cape. The torn lump of fabric, fading with age, was said to be part of Iskandar's garb that rippled and trailed behind him during all his battles.

Before Waver, stood a six-feet tall monkey cloaked in golden armour, its tail slashing to and fro in an agitated manner. A deep rumble sounded in its throat and the monkey spat on the ground. Its spit landed right next to Waver's feet, and the boy squirmed in disgust and annoyance. The monkey paced around him, like predator circling its prey before locking and lunging in. It cocked its head and met Waver's gaze, its eyes narrowed into slits.

"Wimp!" it squeaked, and its tone was definitely not friendly. "Short! Weak!"

Waver's jaw dropped at the sheer indignity. "And who are you supposed to be!?"

The monkey stood and Waver stumbled backwards. _A talking and walking monkey. Wearing armour, too. What is this, some kind of cartoon!?_ It dug its pinkie into its right ear, and twirled out a needle-like object which expanded and elongated into a red staff with golden carvings on either ends. It whirled the staff towards Waver's direction and stopped right before the scary thing reached his face.

"You don't know who I am?" the monkey swung the staff behind him and rested it on his shoulder while securing it with one hand. "I was born, from a magical stone, fused with the energy of Heaven and Earth. And I am the Beautiful King, of the Mountain of Flowers and Fruits, the Cave of Water Curtains. I—"

 _Great._ Waver squinted in sheer humiliation and agony. How was he supposed to make a name for himself with some stupid monkey playing king of the mountain!? He gulped. He could not listen to this nonsense. Not to mention that the monkey, swinging his staff and throwing deadly kung-fu punches, was scaring the crap out of him.

* * *

A strand of blue hair fell before Alice Valerian's eyes. She didn't need to brush it away before it was blown forward and carried by the wind that surged towards the circle of summoning. The Victorian corset kept her loose blouse from fleeting and ripping itself away in the turbulent air, and she was glad that her knee-length boots had tiny, articulate spikes that grappled the ground and secured her footing.

The Grail, from the Swirl of the Root, pulled the Heroic Spirits down to earth: the historical entities that endured through the passing of time, their names immortalized in the songs that were sung by the people that came after. And in rare occasions, when the memory or the collective understanding of a heroic spirit was strong enough, a mythical embodiment of an archetype or character could also take shape.

Whom Alice had summoned was neither. In fundamental ways, it would not be even considered a pure summoning. No, he was no legendary hero as told by the epics, nor was he some kind of mythical deity deeply rooted in the archetypal memory of mankind. Instead, he was a construct, an energetic embodiment and conceptual matrix that had been given physical form through Alice's careful spell casting. What she did was dangerous, she knew, and it took a great toll on her, more than she had anticipated. It took almost every ounce of magic that Alice had in her to bring him to life, since she could not rely on the Grail to provide this identity.

She wondered how the other mages were going to react to her meddling. She expected to have disturbed the energetic infrastructure of the Grail's innermost workings, and she considered how that might affect the summoning process of the other participants. She wondered if she had failed, or if she would fail. What if her hero was eliminated before they even neared the all-powerful chalice? _It doesn't matter,_ Alice thought. _What's done is done._

She was in the Holy Grail War now, and she would fight for her Wish.

 _Why is the raven like a writing desk?_

Effortlessly, their magical circuits found each other. As the Mad Hatter's thoughts flooded into Alice's consciousness, she whispered his name. Then he emerged from the smoke. His tattered hat drooped down and covered his left eye, while his right shone with malicious red. His turquoise bowtie, a shade lighter than Alice's hair, writhed as if having a will of its own.

She stared at him: her proud creation. She knew him, yet he had taken form through the magic of the Grail. He was hers, but not completely. She would like to say that she knew what he was made of, but now that she faced him, she was not so sure.

* * *

For the very first time, Queen Grimhilde gained consciousness. She existed, had a mind of her own. The Holy Grail told her that she must fight and defeat the six other servants, and obey her Master. It told her that she was born, although she could not tell her why. She quickly learned that even the almighty Grail—the omnipotent wish granting device—did not know everything. How could it? If it did, then it shall call itself God, but Queen Grimhilde knew that there was no God. For her, there was only the Mirror, and those lips—lips as red as blood. Hair as dark as night. And the pale skin—how that pale skin haunted her. She winced, tormented by the memory—was it a memory? Could she have memories if she had never existed before?

Before her stood a pathetic looking man. He reminded her of the nameless hunter, who begged for mercy when she found out about his treachery and came for him. His veins moved beneath his skin, bulging and squirming, acrawl with small creatures thirsty for flesh and blood. She felt dangerous sparks of mana wriggling through him. For a brief second, she marveled at him, even though she was quite disgusted. Her Master. How could he possibly endure this long? But she knew the answer.

"That's not Lancelot," his voice trembled. Kariya looked back to the old man standing behind him, a short vicious creature, but with a long deep shadow that spoke of all the unspeakable things he had done. He jabbed his cane into Kariya's spine, forcing him to kneel down before his Servant.

"How incompetent," he smirked mercilessly. Grimhilde remained silent. She observed; her hands could be seen clasped, her fingers interlaced—while the rest of her body was concealed by her dark velvet cape, the high collar around her neck flared high, dignified.

"Who—who are you? Why aren't you Lancelot?"

Coward. Yet despite this, Grimhilde knew why he entered the Holy Grail War. Ah, how noble. How sweet. The weight of his love and hatred poured towards her; so dense—she almost lost control from the rawness of his emotions. His love: tragically childish and profoundly unrequited. His sacrificial heroism. And another emotion: Queen Grimhilde's nostril flared. This taste—she knew too well of this taste. It singed her at the tip of her tongue and burned its way down her throat: She saw a woman with two daughters, playing by the grass and chasing a butterfly. She saw a bearded man in a graceful red suit, taking the woman by the hand.

She stared at the pathetic man on the ground; his lost look and his silver hair reminded her of her stepdaughter. Her perfect stepdaughter. Youthful and well-loved by the people of her cursed kingdom. _The fairest of them all._

She wanted to spit in his face.

Her eyes found his command seal in the shape of a fractured swirl: like three broken birds being sucked into a dark centre. With utmost grace and calculated movement, she bent down suddenly, startling her poor Master. She grabbed him by the wrist, felt the pulsing of the worms and insects that ate him alive from the inside, and she smiled at him lusciously, her red lips parted and stretched into a terrifying, yet beautiful grin. And then, ever so slowly, she extended her other hand, and held it towards his lips.

* * *

Tohsaka Tokiomi's heart leapt to his throat when the First King of Kings, the King of Heroes walked out of a magnificent cascade of light. Gilgamesh, the Babylonian demi-God, was liquid gold. He walked out, simply was, and demanded the worship that was due. Tokiomi was ecstatic. Surely, victory was on their side. Surely, there were no Heroic Spirit that was ever capable of ever matching his strength.

"Victory is ours!" Tokiomi, arms outstretched, declared. There was not a doubt in his voice. Only pride, and exhilaration.

His pupil, Kotomine Kirei, stood at a respectful distance behind his teacher. He made his presence as humble as possible, allowing Tokiomi to savour this moment for himself. A wandering hand brushed his hair, and he felt Caster's soft sigh next to his ear as she placed her chin on his shoulder, half leaning into him from his side. She did not speak, but her voice rang inside his head.

 _Didn't think he'd actually show up. He's so full of his own dick._

Kirei ignored her and replied, _I never doubted the resolve and the strength of my teacher._

At that, Caster laughed, out loud. Loud enough for Tokiomi to hear, loud enough for the King of Heroes to take offense.

"You dare to laugh, without permission, in the presence of the One True King?" he seethed, pointing towards the darkness, where Caster stood. "Reveal yourself, mongrel, or face my wrath."

"Caster—" Kirei tried to stop her, but the ocean-coloured hair woman hushed him with a deep, meaningful stare. Every time she did that, he always felt like she was staring straight into him—her glare, finding the imperceptible cracks in his body, would seep into him, reaching for the shadowscapes of his soul, threatening to tear him apart and expose him for who he was, inside and out. And for a brief moment, he wondered what she saw there. Did she see emptiness, devoid of meaning, an abyss that could not be defined, nor filled? But the mocking look in her eyes told a different story—it was as if she actually saw something, and that she knew something he didn't—and that troubled him.

"King of Heroes!" she cried, with a dramatic flair and honey in her voice. Tokiomi tried to stop her as well, but it was too late. "The Glorious Star of Sumerian, the Son of Ninsun, the Eternal Morning!" She made her way past Tokiomi, and stole the moment. In the dimly lit basement, Caster was beautiful, and her knowing smile took Gilgamesh by surprise.

"And who might you be?" Gilgamesh lowered his arm.

"Nobody," Caster, boldly, caught the hand that belonged to the King of Heroes before it fell, and kissed it—her lips touching the shining plate of armour that encased his slender hand, leaving an imprint of her sweet breath.

For a second, Kirei could see Gilgamesh's anger—he lifted a finger, and the tip of the sword glided out from rings of radiant light, a sword unsheathing itself from the Gate of Babylon, Gilgamesh's Noble Phantasm. Yet Caster was unperturbed. She did not even flinch. She remained, and from her bow, she looked up and stared straight into King of Heroes' eyes.

And that seemed to have swayed Gilgamesh, who must have decided that, perhaps on a whim, that he had never been so rudely reminded of the brilliance of his own existence, and that the Golden King, unable to deny her praise, found that he simply could not strike down one who told the truth of him.

And without hesitation, he lowered his finger.

* * *

 **End of First Chapter:** a experimental first episode of my reimagined Fate/Zero. The story, if I continue, will most likely stay closely with the newly summoned heroes paired with their respective masters: Wukong & Waver, Kirei & Caster, Kariya & Queen Grimhilde. Caster's identity will be revealed in the next chapter or two, so will Kayneth's Servant. But if you are curious, here's a few hints: Caster is someone you already know (too obvious?), and Kayneth's Servant is from one of Miyazaki's films, and well...let's hope our sense of humour is on the same page, hehe. But let me just say that it's not just there for the LOL's, although that's part of it.

 **List of Heroic Spirits So Far:**

Saber Class: Arturia Pendragon  
Lancer Class: Sun Wukong the Monkey King  
Archer Class: Gilgamesh  
Rider Class: to be revealed (Kayneth's servant)  
Caster Class: to be revealed  
Assassin Class: Queen Grimhilde (Snow White's evil queen. She's such an overlooked assassin.)  
Berserker Class: Mad Hatter (I love Alice in Wonderland, so there's going to be underlying themes and references to that story throughout, albeit darker. If you have played Alice: Madness Returns-it's closer to the nightmarish depiction of Wonderland in the game than Lewis Carroll's absurdist Wonderland.)

Anyhoo. This is my first ever fan-fiction. My bro started writing his first fan-fiction, so I decided to give it a shot as well. Before this, I mostly wrote original fiction and poetry.

Please comment and review!

xo

pandanoodles


	2. Ch 2: Smokes and Mirrors

Once again, Alice dreamed of the White Rabbit. She thought she knew where it would take her. After all, this wasn't its first visit. The first time the whimsical creature showed up, it ran from her, its blue waistcoat barely keeping its ruffled fur contained while the golden buttons threatened to burst loose. But it ran nimbly, occasionally stopping and glancing back over its shoulder to make sure she was following. Alice, of course, followed it, as expected of a girl named Alice encountering a white rabbit. And then she fell into a rabbit hole. Or rather, jumped. Although she wasn't sure what exactly awaited her at the bottom of that long descent, she knew she was supposed to jump, and there was something she was supposed to find.

She saw the Holy Grail, beckoning her, pulling her towards its golden hue. The goblet shone with a knowing light, and if it had a mouth, Alice thought it would be smiling. She couldn't explain it, but there was a powerful sense of familiarity, a déjà vu that she could not place. _She felt like she had met the Grail before_ , but that was ridiculous.

When she woke up, the command seal was seared into the back of her hand: it appeared to be a butterfly, with flaming blue curls extending outwards into intricately patterned wings. The spots on the wings looked like gears, and certain swirls pointed in such a way that they almost felt like miniature clocks.

Either way, Alice knew what it meant. Before she brought Hatter to life, the White Rabbit came to her dreams repeatedly, each time urging her to get closer and closer to the Grail. She thought it would be the same this time: she would see the rabbit hole, she would jump, and then she would come face to face with the Grail.

Or so she thought.

To her surprise, the Holy Grail was not there. Perhaps the Grail no longer needed to ensure her participation, now that Alice was an undeniable contestant of the Holy Grail War. Instead, she saw an open sky, a mansion, and the burning sensation of a glowing symbol that impressed itself upon her consciousness…a lollipop? Or some kind of a fan? And then it dawned on her, an inner knowing that surfaced and unveiled itself: _Tohsaka_. She felt a strange compulsion to go to that house, and a strange understanding that she would find the answers that she sought.

When her eyes opened, her command seal ached, and Alice got out of her bed with firm resolve. She would pay Tohsaka residence a visit, if that was where the Grail wanted her to go. Hatter, with his misshapen face and elongated body, sat with his knees against his chest by her bed, rocking himself in eerie silence.

* * *

If it wasn't for the bond they shared as Master and Servant, poor Waver Velvet would never be able to keep up with Wukong. He constantly had to rely on their magical connection to pinpoint the monkey king's location. The monkey, despite being a _monkey_ that was six feet tall—six feet!—was impossible to spot on the streets of Fuyuki. "This is ridiculous," Waver grumbled as he trailed after his Servant. _Will you please slow down, you stupid monkey!?_ He screamed again and again in his head. _I swear, if you don't show yourself, I'm going to use a command seal on you—_

"I'm here, boy." Almost immediately, a disgruntled voice sounded behind Waver. As he turned, Waver saw a hairless man draped in layers of gray robe standing before him, looking like a Buddhist monk. In his hand, he was holding a golden-banded staff.

Confused, Waver stood with an intense frown for a few good seconds. And then he realized, through the connection that he shared with his Servant, that it was Wukong who stood before him. Looking…not like an animal…but human!? And not just any human, a strange looking monk that looked as if he just walked out of a historical drama.

"Monkey!?" Waver blinked stupidly as he looked at his transformed Servant up and down. "Why are you an old monk?"

Wukong, now in human form, gave him a mischievous smirk. "Behold, Seventy-Two Transformations!" he pointed suddenly and poked Waver directly in the forehead, taking the young mage aback. Wukong pranced about, commencing a flamboyant martial arts infused dance with his staff. Several pedestrians stopped to look. As Wukong extended a punch, the wrinkles on his face pulled themselves back and sank into a pair of high cheekbones as a burst of hair grew from his bald head until they were a tight bun, fastened by several ornamental hair pins. In an instant, there was no monk standing before Waver. Instead, a woman in a traditional silken dress smiled demurely behind her floating sleeves.

Waver nearly choked on his own breath. _He transformed. Magic. In broad daylight. In front of people. People!_

"All tricks of magic pales before the Handsome Monkey King's seven—"

"Never mind that!" Waver grabbed Wukong by the wrist and attempted to haul him to a quiet alleyway that he spotted with the corner of his eye. People were beginning to stare. There were some bewildered gasps, but there were also a few scattered claps—applauding for a masterfully designed illusion or magic trick. Street magic was all the rage these days, were they not? Thank God for people's ignorance. A monk with a random staff dashing about the streets of a modern city _and then randomly transforming into a freaking woman_ was way too conspicuous an image, and they needed to get out of there as soon as possible. Waver would be lucky if the Mage's Association did not reprimand him for such blatant display of magic in public—he thought as he panted and puffed out epic sighs of frustration. _Stupid monkey! I swear, I'll use a command seal to teach him a lesson. God!_

Thankfully, the monkey didn't resist. Waver didn't think he could actually out-muscle Wukong, and he was glad that he didn't put up a fight. Once they were away from the crowd, Waver confronted his Servant with an emphatic stomp of his foot.

"Why on earth did you do that!?"

Wukong's face bore a dark expression. He peered at Waver's command seal, and asked tentatively. "You're not going to use the command seal on me?"

"What? Just answer the question!"

"I was searching for a formidable foe worthy of my staff…and a demon or two."

"That's nonsense," Waver snapped. "There are no demons in Fuyuki."

The monkey king grunted. He seemed nervous, unlike his usual flamboyant self. "There are always demons lurking in the shadows of the landscape, whether you choose to see it or not, boy."

 _Boy._ Waver, at that point, was sick and tired of being belittled by a talking animal. He gritted his teeth and felt the urge to retort, the command seal gave out a tiny red spark. Wukong's shoulders shrank, but in the end, Waver decided that there was no point wasting a command seal on something so trivial. He needed to save it for the real battles, after all. Besides, he was beyond exhausted from the chase. So instead, he stuffed his hands into his pocket, the command seal dimmed and resumed its dark red. He sighed: what he thought was his last long puff of exasperation of the day.

Or so he thought. Because Wukong, with another crooked smirk, promptly left the alley and dashed off into the streets as a monk again, whirling his staff all the way.

* * *

From the stone floor, rose brambles and thorned vines. They smelled like a decaying nightmare, and Kariya instinctively covered his nose with his arm, unable to hide his disgust. Grimhilde, the Dark Queen stood formidably, facing the wall as the monstrous vegetation grew taller and taller to match her height, spurting and splitting into smaller vines, curling into intricate patterns. The vines closed into a perfect oval, and as soon as the two ends touched, a purple flame burst forth from the centre and spread to engulf the oval, then slowly smoothening into a thin mist of violet smoke.

Was it a trick of the eye that Kariya saw, imperceptibly, as the smoke shifted, the outlines of a face?

"What is it?" he asked, although he already knew the answer.

Grimhilde smiled, her tooth white to the perfection. "Truth." She came close to him, so close that he could smell her breath. Kariya shifted uncomfortably. She whispered into his ear, asking him to look into the mirror on the wall.

"It will show you anything you wish to see," she said, placing both hands on his shoulders. Her long, sharp nails dug into him like scales. "Or…anyone." That last word rolled off her tongue like a jewel.

Kariya couldn't help it. He stepped closer, and without meaning to, he thought of Aoi-san. Of course he would think of her—how could he not? Mere thoughts of the woman he loved tormented him. The flames danced in the mirror, showing him her sad face, stroking her daughter Rin's hair, and looking out the window—no doubt thinking of her other daughter, Sakura. The daughter she had to give away—the daughter who now suffered the cruelty of his own father… _because he refused to become the heir to the Matou._

The queen sniffed the air, before taking an exaggerated breath. Whatever she was smelling, she seemed to be savouring it. It sent a cold feeling to Kariya's stomach and he felt his knees go weak. Feeling faint, he stepped back feebly, breaking free from Grimhilde's clutch. He wanted to throw up. He couldn't bear looking at the man who stole the love of his life from him. The bitter resentment melted into his body with a hiss, eating into his bones, sending the crest worms into a frenzy. The nasty little creatures squirmed and swarmed in his veins—the pain was stronger than it had ever been. Kariya let out a cry.

With a clean sweep of her dark cape, Grimhilde laughed coldly and walked past him, paying him no heed. _She's evil like my father_ , Kariya thought, with tears running down his cheeks. _God, what have I gotten myself into?_

The Dark Queen approached the smokes and mirror.

"Now," her voice cut through the air like knife. "Mirror, Mirror on the Wall—"

Kariya cringed at the familiar phrase.

"—reveal to me, the face of my enemies."

* * *

When Tokiomi saw who was standing at the front gate of Tohsaka residence, he paused in bewilderment. The last time he saw Caster, she was nesting on the couch next to his pupil, Kirei, laying her head casually on his lap while he sorted through documents regarding the other participants of the Grail War. Kirei seemed to have taken an avid interest in Emiya Kiritsugu, the Mage Killer hired by the Einzbern family. And Caster—Tokiomi sighed. Caster, on the other hand, didn't seem to care about the Grail War. Instead, if she wasn't snuggling close to Kirei, she fluttered towards Gilgamesh whenever she could, and the King of Heroes would laugh at her frequent remarks of absolute adoration. Tokiomi didn't approve of her behaviour, as she was merciless when it came to interrupting his attempts to discuss strategy with his own Servant. He could not shake the disturbing thought that he still did not know who she was—and it was even more disturbing that every time he locked eyes with her, he would feel naked before her stare. It was as if she knew things about him, things she couldn't possibly know.

Who was Caster? Tokiomi considered. He could not identify her as any heroic spirit that existed in known history, myths, or folklores—and judging from her attire, it did not look like she originated from a distant period in history. Mostly, she looked…modern, if Tokiomi were to draw a conclusion based on her appearance and speech alone. Clad in tight fitted leather from top to bottom, she wore a black corset along with a thick copper-coloured belt strapped around her waist. She was slender, lacking the feminine curves that might make a woman more attractive physically, but the blue semi-transparent hair that cascaded almost down to her waist gave her this strange ethereal beauty. Besides her appearance, Tokiomi felt that most important clue that might shed light to her true identity was the butterfly tattoo situated on the back of her neck, glittering whenever she wore her long hair in front of her. He thought that if he could get a closer look of its patterns, he might be able to do some research on it. Caster caught him staring one time, to his embarrassment, and when she did, she smiled and blew him a kiss. From her hand, a swirl of butterflies swept towards him like a vivid wind, their wings tickling his cheeks as the swarm opened, taking him in and enveloping him in dazzling shades of blue. From that incidence, Tokiomi knew her to be capable of conjuring illusions, but despite that discovery, he still knew very little of her.

Shaking his head, Tokiomi lowered the barriers that protected his house. It was undoubtedly Caster, albeit dressed differently. He greeted her at the door and welcomed her in, closing the metal gate behind her. He opened his mouth to question her whereabouts, and that was when he noticed that something was off.

There was a command seal on the back of her right hand…and it was…blue?

"Caster?" Instinctively, he tightened his grip on his staff, the ruby shone crimson with a current of mana. _Is this an illusion?_

"Yes, Tohsaka?" As if on cue, Caster emerged from behind Tokiomi and leaned lazily onto him with an elbow placed on his shoulder. Tokiomi looked back and forth, his eyes widening with surprise. Two Casters stood face to face before him, staring at each other, one with a knowing smile while the other's mouth hung agape with genuine shock.

That was when the Shadow attacked.

* * *

 **Chapter 2 finished!** I'm sure you know who Caster is by now. Somewhat of a reference/tribute/shout-out to Fate/Stay Night's Archer and Shirou, since the existence of their story arc essentially enabled this one. Although, it's quite a different story...especially when it comes to who wants who dead.

Wukong is an interesting character to write: he's a trickster with a rogue-like temperament and a short fuse, but he's also wise with his years and his experience with Tang Seng (Wukong's master and teacher in Journey to the West). Waver, on the other hand, is a constant victim of Wukong's unmanageable trolls.

Anyway. Please comment and review!


	3. Ch 3: Shadowmasters

When Hatter ripped himself out of her, Alice screamed. She didn't remember collapsing, but she did remember the incredible pain that shot through her abdomen as Hatter exited his spirit form. She saw two blades snapping themselves shut, making a sharp shearing sound, and then there was a blur of blue, moving fast away from the silver sheens. And then—she saw a figured clothed in burgundy red—a man standing over her, feeling her pulse, checking her heartbeat and getting a read on her magical circuit. She sensed surprise, and a calculated concern as their skin touched. _Tohsaka. Tohsaka Tokiomi._

Her Valerian blood awoke in her, and her body responded immediately to the healing magic that passed through her, although her mind was slow, groggy. Hatter was close; he was a ball of chaos tugging at her insides. Alice didn't know what was happening: Alice. Her face. She saw herself. How was that even possible? But there she was, facing Hatter, the woman who shared her features— _is that her?—_ the energetic patterns on her exterior aura was…different, yet as Alice traced the woman to her core, she discovered that they were one and the same. But how? How could there be two of her?

She shook her head. Too much, too much—she couldn't handle the intuitive insight that was flooding through her waking mind. _A connection had been made._ A voice droned repeatedly in her head, and she had to shut it out. She pulled out of her mind's eye, and saw the same blue hair, the high cheek bones, and…the same deck of tarot cards, panning out, criss-crossing each other, shaping and arranging themselves into a wheel. Impressive—all seventy-eight cards, fully realized, all of them.

Straining to align her senses, she quickly stood, refusing Tokiomi's extended hand. The lopsided world righted itself, her vision refocused. Hatter charged at Other-Alice with a menacing pair of scissors—his angled and jagged body streamlined like stretched bullet, fusing with his weapon, merging into one deadly attack.

"Caster!" A solemn looking man dressed in long black priest robe rushed out, before the sight of Alice brought him to an abrupt halt. He almost stumbled. "What is this?" Alice heard him say, and there was a strange air that surrounded him, and Alice shuddered as she felt herself being pulled towards him, a gravity that she could not explain.

 _Caster_. Alice pressed her fingers hard into her temples. _Focus, Alice. Focus._ Caster Alice fell back easily, as if performing a dance. A single tarot card left the formation of the spinning wheel of cards that circled her and flew before her: four solid shields of earthen gold rose from the ground and blocked Hatter's advance, the sheer clash of magic sent a shockwave that pushed the bystanders away from the epicentre.

 _Four of Pentacles._ Alice noted with shock and wonder. She had always used Four of Pentacles for defensive purposes, strengthening the crust of the spell or her own physical form to lessen the impact of incoming attacks. But materializing it—manifesting it into physical form? This was no mere Embodiment. This was beyond any magic that Alice knew and practiced.

Another card shimmered and this time, Caster reached for it with her hand: a sword emerged and clashed with Hatter's scissors. She had an alluring, confident expression on her face—a stark contrast to Hatter's, flaring with deep, cutting hatred.

 _Ace of Swords. That's Ace of Swords. She conjured an actual sword from that archetype!_ Alice sprung to action, calling to her own tarot deck. She was in the Holy Grail War, and Caster was her enemy. She knew that, but also knew that she could not let Hatter succeed in eliminating Caster. _Because she's me._ And she didn't have time to examine or question her own logic, for an overwhelming panic sprang from her chest and threatened to paralyze her. _Caster must not be harmed._

Alice, fighting through the chaos that stirred within her, ran towards Hatter and Caster. "STOP!" she shouted, her voice sprung from the depths of her being, so firm, and so sure, and as her command seal exploded with red light, sending Hatter into completely stillness, she felt the need to declare herself. "My name is Alice Valerian," she said, and then, she began to notice the pain near her ribcage, and the two men standing next to her, staring at her with—what? Curiosity? Apprehension? Normally she would be able to tell the tone of their emotions, since that was part of being a Valerian—you knew how people felt, though you might not know why—not until you got close enough. It was then, oh, when her fingers brushed against the blood on her mid-section, that she realized there was a terrible gash, and her clothes were soaked in blood.

* * *

Kotomine Kirei helped Alice Valerian onto the couch. She bore the pain in silence as Tokiomi gestured for her to lay down so he could continue to treat her, wincing as she shifted her weight to find a comfortable position to rest.

"Let me," Kirei offered when Tokiomi was about to place his hand on Alice's injury. "I need the practice," he added, hoping that it didn't sound too strained an excuse. He didn't need the practice in the healing arts; in truth, he just wanted to get a closer look at the girl with blue hair. Alice—that was her name, wasn't it? Her command seal was the exact same symbol tattooed upon Caster's neck. Through the magic of the Grail, a Heroic Spirit, exiting outside of their current space-time, regardless of their origin, could re-enter the timeline—even the same timeline that they had once existed in. Perhaps that was why Caster hid her identity. Did she know that the two Alice's were going to meet? Was it chance? Or was it destiny?

For some reason, Alice cringed uncomfortably when he cleaned and bandaged her wounds, looking away several times as she met his gaze. Tokiomi had to peel off her leather corset earlier to expose the skin, which made the girl's cheeks blush bright red. Kirei placed a hand on her. Within a few seconds, the cut on the girl's belly closed, and Kirei had never seen a wound heal so fast before. Her magical circuits absorbed the healing magic with incredible speed and efficiency, and soon the exposed flesh smoothed into skin, leaving only a hint of a scar behind.

"Thanks," the girl said meekly. Even though she kept avoiding looking at him, her eyes kept darting back. He helped her sit up, gripping her shoulder to steady her. He let his hand stay there, feeling the heat from her body. When they touched, the girl gently tapped his fingers, nudging him to let go. This time, their eyes met properly, and Alice Valerian held him, and it was the same look that Caster always gave him—that knowing, penetrating look, probing into him, a hand digging into the fabrics of his psyche. But what was different this time was that, unlike Caster, Alice reacted. The girl's face paled as she eyed him up and down. She seemed disturbed, and that stirred Kirei in an inexplicable way. He felt himself welcoming it. _She sees me_ , Kirei thought as he leaned closer to her. _All of me._

It took him a moment to regain his composure, as Alice broke away, breathless. What did she see? _What did she see in me?_

That was when Tokiomi came and signalled him to give her some space, and Alice seemed to appreciate it. Caster, Kirei saw with the corner of his eye, stood facing the multi-pane window that oversaw the distant hills. It wasn't like her to keep her distance. She was probably looking at Hatter, who now stood motionless at the entrance of the Tohsaka residence, frozen by the command seal.

He followed his teacher and sat down on the couches right across from the blue-haired girl.

"I see that your wound has closed," Tokiomi spoke, his voice gentle and diplomatic. "I'm sure my pupil did a good job in sealing that nasty cut. I have heard of the healing properties of the Valerian family, and needlessly to say I am more than impressed to see such subtle yet brilliant magic at work. Under normal and more favourable circumstances, I would insist upon allowing you a good night's sleep before I commence with the questioning, but as you can see, the matter is quite strange and urgent. Alice-san, if you don't mind explaining to us your purpose here?"

Alice stared at Caster, as if understanding something. She then stared at Tokiomi's command seal.

"Lollipop," she remarked.

"Lollipop?"

"I dreamed it. The White Rabbit told me to come here."

She wasn't making much sense, but Tokiomi was patient with her. Too patient, Kirei thought. He had many questions of his own—he wanted to ask her to explain herself—explain how she did it. How she could look into him, just like Caster, who never gave him a straight answer. He wanted to ask her what she saw. Maybe the girl could tell him—if she could see into him. She could tell him what joy could mean, what meaning laid beyond the void that he inhabited, this mechanical existence in which he sucked in breath after breath only to do the same the next day?

"The White Rabbit with the blue waistcoat," Caster said, now making her way to them. She didn't sit down on one of the couches. Instead, she chose a place where she garnered everybody's attention and settled for the desk in between the two couches. Tokiomi, along with Alice and Kirei, turned their heads to face her. "Or, more precisely, me."

* * *

It would seem the first round of the Grail War had commenced and temporarily resolved itself. The Mirror showed her the curious pairing, the simultaneous existence of one identity: one in the flesh, and the other a Heroic Spirit, reincarnated through the magical workings of the Grail. Alice Valerian, was it not? Queen Grimhilde wanted to wrench her pretty little face, youthful and innocent like her step-daughter's, though not as pronounced. The two other Masters regarded her with composed intensity, trying to process the paradox before them. Caster, a sharper, more pronounced version of the Valerian girl, spoke of the White Rabbit.

The White Rabbit? Ah. A faint memory surfaced and reached for her with its ghostly hands. Was there a White Rabbit in her dreams when she woke for the very first time?

It didn't matter; she was alive. Awake and alive. As she watched through the thin veil of purple smoke, she tuned into the conversation that took place between Caster, her former self, and the two Masters. She learned that Alice Valerian, who practiced the magic of archetypal embodiment, had placed herself in the centre of the ritual ring. Instead of a relic, she used herself as a conduit, with the intention of creating a construct, a projection of her own personality mixed with the archetypal energies that dwelled in the collective unconscious of mankind.

Fueled by the desire to attain the ideals and further the craft of her family—and seized, inexplicably, by a profound and inexplicable spiritual calling that took the form of the White Rabbit—Alice entered the Holy Grail War.

And the White Rabbit, in fact, the consciousness of her spiritual or ascended self, who reached out to her through her dreamscape and established a connection with her even before she was chosen by the Grail. Caster didn't explain how she managed to transcend the Grail's consciousness and how she was able to exist as a singular entity outside of the Grail, but the fact that she didn't completely belong to the Grail was enough to cause a massive disturbance to the summoning process—overriding the infrastructure between relics and Heroic Spirits tied to their historical artifacts, causing the magic to short-circuit and duplicate Alice's summoning.

Grimhilde snickered. She knew from the beginning that the Holy Grail was not omnipotent, and she gave a contemptuous wave of her hand to dismiss the stupidity of it all. Yet, as she pondered on Caster's words, she grew increasingly disturbed. Slowly, as the pieces of the puzzle came together, Grimhilde realized reluctantly the reality of her existence. _No…no. This cannot be._

The Evil Queen cast a glance at her Master, who writhed in pain every time the crest worms moved, his body twitching uncontrollably like a damaged puppet on a string, a pair of invisible hands pulling and tugging at him, making him dance. If what Caster Alice said was true, then she must be a projection of this…man before her. She could not stomach the thought that she shared anything at all with someone as lowly as Kariya—let along a _construct_ or _projection_ born out of his existence. She could not stop the trembling: the outrage! The absurdity of it all! Those feelings welled up and pooled at her throat and she wanted to throw up, to rid the unspeakable thoughts from her body—but she took a deep breath and straightened herself before she compromised her queenly composure. _I am Grimhilde, the Dark Queen. Yes,_ she breathed. She walked towards Kariya, who cowered before her. She stepped on his hand, and savoured the maniacal triumph that coursed through her veins.

* * *

 **Chapter 3 finished.** Omg, I actually typed out this chapter months ago but never got around to editing it. I was going to include a Waver/Wukong scene at the end but thought the scene concluded itself the way it should. Hopefully the explanations of how the Grail "short-circuited" weren't too confusing. Anyhoo...need to pick up the story again...now which station did I leave my train of thoughts...


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